When Your Angel Sings (Turn Away, for His Beauty is Blinding)
by fakescorpion
Summary: Season6. Jimmy's thoughts on human/celestial relationships during angel intercourse. Eerie atmosphere, psychological issues, moral dissonance, with gratuitous religious themes (so not for the easily offended). And a reminder that angels are living weapons first and foremost, even in bed.


___disclaimer: I don't own SPN or any of its characters._

___Jimmy's thoughts on human/celestial relationships during angel intercourse. Eerie atmosphere and unintentional background destruction, psychological issues, moral dissonance, with gratuitous religious themes (so not for the easily offended). And a reminder that angels are living weapons first and foremost, even in bed._

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_**When Your Angel Sings... (Turn Away, for His Beauty is Blinding)**_

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They were slammed horizontally on top the home bar counter. The cracking of solid stone could be heard in the dead silence of midnight and he felt fissures extended out like spiderwebs under his fingertips. The marble top felt cold on contact, separated from his skin by only thin layers of shirt fabric and coat. The lamplights in the room corners were pale yellow, basking everything in an eerie shine. The many wineglasses hung overhead reflecting in the light and were twinkling like stars.

He was perceiving the surroundings through a metaphorical smokescreen, the angelic energy housed within slacking his senses; the quietness was artificially heavy and oppressing. But he was grateful for the pain shooting sharply across his back was dulled.

Nevertheless, Jimmy was surprised to find himself with lucid thoughts.

A finger thread through his hair gently, and his head turned on its own accord. A man he did not recognize leaned against the counter, impossibly close to his person, staring at him almost in reverence.

"You were bestowed a very attractive vessel," the man said, mirth dancing behind an accented tongue. He was an angel, no doubt.

A hand is slightly raised, and Jimmy flinched at the movement. (But he could not. His body was not his.) And the angel ran a finger down his cheek and gently strokes his throbbing jugular.

Jimmy was frightened but then Castiel was speaking in the back of his mind, his true voice screeching out like glass scratching the highest possible pitch of violin strings. A cacophony of sounds that was at once horrible and entrancing, dancing across five (thousand) different frequencies. Jimmy thought his ears should bleed.

With the first voice, Castiel spoke formal, 'Balthazar wishes to pleasure us.'  
The suggestion sent heat racing through Jimmy's blood.

With the second voice, Castiel spoke in pictures and sensations and memories.  
Jimmy was brought back to the time when Castiel visited him in dreams with some regularity. Of those feather-light caresses that were cold to the touch but left burning passion in their wake; of those whispered promises that sang of sin and desire; and of those nights that left him whimpering, hard and aching and wet, teetering on edge but never complete.

And with the third voice (_and forth, and fifth..._), Castiel was again wooing him with his songs. _Be mine. Be mine. Be mine._

It was like having the radio and the television on at the same time, while an orchestra performed in the background. And Jimmy was reminded once more of how limited humans were when compared to angels, with only one voice that could only make one sound at a time.

He tried to think of his wife Amelia, and the taste of her lips against his. Not again. Jimmy thought, refusing to submit to the horrifying beauty of the celestial being and his (_its_) poisonous words. But Jimmy's mind came up blank, his memory under secure lock and key.

'Castiel,' Jimmy protested weakly in his mind, 'Why don't you put me away?'

'Because,' Castiel answered slowly (he was still singing Jimmy, Jimmy, my beautiful holy Sword), 'I'll be too distracted to do so in a moment's time.'

Another innocently delivered implication, and Jimmy felt his resolve already quickly crumbling under barely any strain. Like so many times before.

Patiently and waiting, Balthazar was looking at them with amusement winkling in his eyes. He moved closer, whispering a single word into their ear, "James," he crooned. And Jimmy felt his breath hitches, heartbeat going twice as fast as its usual pace. (But it did not. His body was not his.) His name falling off another angel's lips, it was like seduction.

Cas-ti-el. A Enochian shriek chimed lowly under the vessel's given name, a wineglass overhead cracked, and the call somehow sounded even more alluring to Jimmy's ears. And Castiel was snaking a hand to grip Balthazar's nape, angling their faces so they were now properly eye to eye.

That was when Jimmy saw him.

Behind the other angel's confident smirk, there was another man. The same as Jimmy caged inside the confinement of his own skin and mind, his history bleeding out of his eyes in invisible tears, a history of willing misery and too-sweet torture that resulted from falling for a creature that destroyed him through a series of ecstatic suffering.

He was a pale Arabian man.

An ordinary scholar from so long ago, a man with two daughters and a lovely wife.

An ordinary scholar who was visited by a star one night. A star so achingly beautiful he fell in trance with its splendor and left home to follow its enticing melody through prairies and deserts. With nothing but an intoxicating promise in the caressing wind and a small jar of myrrh in hand, he crossed countries and vast lands, finally arriving in Bethlehem to deliver a gift.

And with his consent, the man let the beautiful creature slip a noose around his neck, chaining him to its side for the next two thousand years.

They were so close together now, with Balthazar bending over Castiel, and their lips were less than an inch apart. And Castiel whispered in Arabic, a name long lost and gone. "Malik," he says softly, like coaxing a fragile animal. (King. It was understood.)

Then Jimmy felt their throat constrict and vibrate, an otherworldly ring escaped into the air. Bal-tha-zar. Castiel echoed, the Enochian sounding seductive and absolutely debauched.

Another wineglass cracked, threatening to shatter.

And the small gap between the two angels closed, with Balthazar's elbows on either sides holding his younger brethren down almost desperately onto the broken marble counter, and Castiel knotted their slim fingers through the older angel's blond hair in return. The kiss was at once completely different from any traded between humans, all tongue and teeth and absolutely nobody was coming up for air.

Jimmy was a gasping, moaning wreck within the first twenty seconds. (But he was not. His body was not his.) But the kiss lasted another five solid minutes longer, a younger seraph and an older angel fighting for dominance, with neither willing to relent. The chapped lips that pressed against theirs left a burn in the aftertaste, igniting a flame within each others Grace.

In a daze, Jimmy thought of the first time Castiel pressed his cold burning lips against his. It was with commanding possession and borderline obsession, and Jimmy had almost submitted with a whimpered _Oh God_ and _Yes, Castiel, please please!_ falling from his tongue.

It was a dream, but his lips were red and raw the next morning. And the taste of lust and blasphemy lingered for a week.

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_This story is incomplete on this site. Due to its MA rating, the COMPLETE STORY is posted at AO3 under the same title._


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